


Quiet Return

by juliesioux



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Injury Recovery, Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Tenderness, True Love, Understanding, inner conflict, olicity - Freeform, post slabside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliesioux/pseuds/juliesioux
Summary: This is something I needed to get out of my head.It starts at the moment when Oliver is released and then segues into their first night and day together. I decided to write from Felicity's POV and look at the struggle she would have faced between being angry, hurt, concerned and so fiercely in love with Oliver.I don't touch the deeper stuff (I did that in another fic, Almost True) but I needed to establish the inner conflict in Felicity because the show simply doesn't know how to write it.Enjoy :)





	Quiet Return

**Quiet Return  
**   
_There was no warning_   
_only a discordant hum_   
_and he blazed into view._ **  
** **  
**   
**I**

Her first contact with him, after seven months filled with the quiet agony of longing, was a gentle one: A hand on his cheek made rough by dried blood and the after effects of his fight through hell to finally be free. She cupped his face and tried to find his eyes, to see the blue that filled her dreams and heart with love and sorrow all those long months.

He refused to look up and kept his eyes downcast. His shame and guilt eating him alive in front of her.

But she forgave him that moment of anxiety filled humbleness and kissed him. So carefully. With as much tenderness as she could, she pressed her lips to his, tasting his blood, sweat and tears. Oliver felt smaller in her arms, like his vitality had been leached away, he felt brittle and breakable.

Gently, she had led him back to the waiting SUV and away from one of the most evil places on earth. No one spoke the entire drive back to the condo she had rented only two days before. Oliver sat, holding his body as still as he possibly could. His body battered and bruised, his mind broken. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon as they left Slabside and headed back to Star City.

Slowly, inch by inch, she slipped her hand into his, and felt how cold and lifeless it was. With a sigh that seemed to come from every cell in his body, Oliver closed his bruised hand around hers. Bit by bit, his skin warmed up and the firmness of his grip increased just enough for her to know that he wouldn’t ever let go again.

With only a simple, “Thank you” to John, they got out of the vehicle and made their way up to their new home. Not for a single moment did she relinquish her hold on his hand. He was dangerously close to flying away from her, disappearing over the horizon, running away to another Lian Yu. The only way she could keep him from vanishing was to hold him fast, keeping him as close to her as possible.

His clothes were caked in blood, only some of it his, and he smelled sour, like something from the bottom of a garbage filled river. Still holding his hand, she led him back to the bedroom that was theirs and into the master bath. Glancing at the shower, she caught Oliver’s expression out of the corner of her eye.

It was a micro movement, a quick tightening of the muscles around his eyes. She saw fear and panic swirling in the depth of his eyes. Without breaking stride, she led him past it to the tub on the other side of the shower stall wall. It was surrounded by frosted glass windows. The light coming through was diffuse, bright without being overbearing, and created an openness in the room that she hoped would ease his anxiety.

Oliver stood, eyes downcast, his arms by his side and waited for her to fill the tub. She used touch instead of words to ask his permission to remove first one shirt and then the other. She blinked away tears as she saw the bruises on his ribs and back. He was covered in knife and impact wounds, a crisscrossing network of damage.

She helped him slip off his shoes, his blood caked socks, and carefully placed all the items in a pile by the bathroom door. When she returned to his side, she saw that he was shaking. His entire body had slipped out of his control. It was like watching tectonic plates shift, crash together and fall away before beginning the process all over again. Her heart broke as she watched him pull himself back together. To hide her own anguish, she turned away from his broken body and turned off the water filling the tub.

“Sit,” she said quietly and pointed to the closed toilet lid.

Obediently, he sat down and waited for her. With more confidence than she truly felt, Felicity soaked a washcloth in warm water from the sink and pressed it to his face as tenderly as she could. He winced but sat still, his eyes closed, as she wiped the blood and dirt from his face, tending the wounds she found along the way. A tear leaked out and ran down his face, disappearing into the dense hair of his beard.

Without thinking, she leaned down and kissed the salty track of it before wiping his cheek once more. Over and over, she rinsed out the cloth, until the water ran from red to pink then clear. His arm, with the stab wound, needed special attention. She needed to disinfect it and make sure stitches weren’t needed before he got in the tub.

“We can deal with the beard tomorrow,” she said softly and finally got a smile, “Ok, get in the tub.”

To give him a sense of security and peace, she left him to finish undressing alone. In the privacy of their bedroom, she undressed and slipped into a robe. What he needed was something he was too afraid to ask for but she knew, she could feel the unasked question practically vibrating through his skin.

When she was sure he in the tub, she quietly made her way into bathroom, turned the lights low, and slipped into the hot water behind him. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, his knees pulled up as far as he could, his head bowed. As the water rippled around him, he remained locked up tight in his prison of flesh and bone.

Felicity continued to wash his body free of the grit and stench of Slabside. Some of what she thought was bruising turned out to be dirt and residue from something he had come into contact with, and under some of the dirt was more bruising. He had been badly beaten but still, he had prevailed. The water quickly turned black and murky, so she drained it and used the handheld shower attachment to continue the job at hand.

Taking the sponge from her, he gently washed his legs and chest, he was slowly relaxing even as the extent of the violence he had encountered was revealed. When the water ran clear, she filled the tub again. Oliver leaned back against her just enough to feel the resiliency of her body. She delicately, slowly and with loving purpose, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head back so that it rested on her shoulder.

“A shower would have been easier,” he commented dryly.  
“Perhaps, but does a shower have these?” she replied and then turned on the jets, rumbling the water to life around them.

Little by little, limb by limb, Oliver let go the anxiety he had carried out of the prison. His guard was still well and truly up, but the stiffness in his muscles was slowly gave way as he relaxed against her. But there was still a simmering tension running the length of his body, she knew Oliver despite seven months apart, that he was in danger of boiling over.

“Wait here for a few minutes,” she whispered, “Don’t rush yourself.”

She wanted him to feel safe, whether alone or with her, so she left him to the bath, to find a bit of quiet as the long day came to an end. She was worried about the night and how he was going to adjust to being here with her and not in a prison cell. He had barely said a word since they left the caged and barricaded walls that surrounded Slabside and she mourned the loss of the sound of his voice even though he was right in front of her.

After drying off, she slipped on a shirt of Oliver’s, it was long to her knees, and found him clothes to wear for when he was ready to leave the confines of the bathroom. Knocking gently, she signalled her return and found him much as she left him. He was no longer hugging his knees, but the ramrod stiffness was back in his muscles and he looked ready to explode.

“Oliver,” she said quietly, “here are some things for you to wear. Do you want anything to eat? I ordered a bunch of food, all ready to go, all I have to do is heat it up.”  
“No, I’m fine,” he said with a small shake of his head.

He was still avoiding her eyes and for now, she let him but that would have to change soon enough. With a nod, she made to leave, feeling the earth beneath her feet tilt dangerously off its axis. There was a cascading effect to the kind of grief that had made its presence known in their marriage and life. Oliver was lost, for the moment, to the immediacy of being free. The outside world was just a little too bright, a little too big.

For Felicity, it was like she was still seeing him from behind a pane of tempered glass. He was close enough to touch but the barrier between them was still there. Piece by piece, she was falling apart. She couldn’t let him see it, not yet, no matter how long this process took, she needed to provide the strength he needed to simply feel human again.

“Felicity?” he called, his voice creaking from disuse, “I’m not sure how…”  
“How what?” she asked as she joined him. He was dressed and standing barefoot beside the tub. For the briefest of moments, he looked like a little boy, lost in a world that was much too big.

Helplessly, he pointed at the tub. Understanding, she nodded and tentatively stepped forward, not wanting to move too quickly into his personal space, and turned the jets off and pulled the plug so that the water would drain. Oliver stepped quietly past her and waited by the bathroom door. He was nervously rubbing his fingers together on his right hand, a clear signal to her that his anxiety was through the roof.

“What would you like to do now?” she asked.  
“I’m exhausted,” he said quietly.  
“Do you want me to sleep in another room for tonight?” she asked, her voice quivering just a tiny bit.  
“No, no…,” he said in a voice so full of sorrow and regret it sounded muffled, buried, but he finally turned to look at her, his eyes full of alarm and concern, “Please don’t.”  
“Okay,” she said, relieved to finally feel his eyes on her, knowing that he was finally seeing her.

He looked back into the room and then back at her, his uncertainty screaming in the silence that surrounded them. She nodded at him, giving him the permission he needed to step past the bathroom threshold and into their bedroom. From behind, she watched his shoulders slowly lower just a fraction of an inch. Each new movement made freely, teased a little of the tension out of his body.

To give him more time to find his way through the new room, she rinsed the tub out. It was filthy. He had been almost caked in dirt from head to toe and she was now positive it wasn’t just dirt and blood from today. He had shut down in so many ways in such a short period of time. A complete systems failure.

When she went to wash her face, she discovered that she was crying. Silent tears that poured down her cheeks, dripped off her chin and into the sink. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, she brought herself back under control. She was able to calm her heart, smoother the sorrow, and stop the tears.

Felicity washed away all evidence of her breakdown and quietly blowed her nose. When she was sure of her appearance, and ability to control what was bubbling up was firmly in hand, she turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the darkened bedroom. Oliver had turned off the overhead light and found his way into their bed.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when her vision returned, she saw that Oliver was on the far side of the bed, curled into a tight ball. On silent feet, Felicity left the bedroom and made sure the front door to the condo was locked, the security alarm set and then turned off all the lights. It was early for them to be going to bed, the clock read eleven pm, but the emotion of the day had snuck up on them both, taking with it almost all the energy they had. Pausing only to plug her phone into its charger, she turned off the lights and headed back to their bedroom.

Oliver was still facing away from her, locked in whatever hell was playing in his mind, under only the thin sheet. She hadn’t had time to get the gas connected to the gas fireplaces in the bedroom and livingroom, so the air was cool and would get cooler as the night progressed. Making up her mind on what to do, she slipped silently under the sheet but then pulled the light but warm duvet up and over them both.

It settled around them, light as air, and she used it as cover to move closer to him. She wanted to reach out, to touch him but could feel the uneven waves of fear, exhaustion and wariness coming off of him. Tidal waves of remorse that threatened to subsume them both.

“Oliver?” she said as quietly as she could, “Can I help?”

He said nothing but instead, reached a hand back to her. It was all the permission she needed. Taking his hand firmly in hers, she moved behind him and, as best she could given their height and size difference, surrounded him with her body. He pulled her arm over him, settling it over his heart.

They fell asleep like that, Felicity curled around his body like a protective shell, her body being used as armour, until the early morning hours. Something, a sound or maybe because of a dream he was having, awoke Oliver with a hard, twitching start. Felicity jerked awake when she felt Oliver’s body start to violently shake.

As quickly as she could, she moved away from him, knowing that he sometimes awoke in the middle of his nightmares, not knowing where or who he was. He never hurt her but he had the potential to and that was something that terrified them both. He spun around, his eyes wide open but unseeing, but stopped short of lunging for her.

“Oliver? Oliver...it’s me,” she said softly.

He blinked several times and then, as though in slow motion, she watched him fall apart. This time he reached for her, mouthing, “Please…”.

Felicity nodded and moved back towards him as he moved to her. She could feel the magnetic pull between them sparking back to life. For now she would happily settle for the comfort of his arms around her as she cradled him, his head on her chest. Being mindful of his wounds and bruises, she stroked his back until he fell asleep once more.

He had wrapped his body around hers, like she was an anchor keeping him rooted to their bed, their lives, this world. His beard was dense and itchy against her skin. It would have to go but she wasn’t going to push him. Not on that. Not when they had so much to work through.

_Not yet, she thought as she allowed herself to relax in his arms._   
_Not yet, she thought as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks._   
_Not yet, she thought and waited for sleep to claw its way back to her._

It was still dark out when she awoke next. The room was quiet but she could tell by the way he was breathing, that Oliver was awake. He sensed she was no longer asleep and gently increased the hold he had on her. Not by much, but just enough so that she would have to work to be free from him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, still so comfortably nestled into her.  
“Hey,” she whispered.  
“I’m sorry I was so...disconnected yesterday,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. His words stuck to her skin, finding a home in each cell of her body.  
“It’s ok, Oliver,” she soothed, “You need time to readjust. We both do.”

He fell silent so she continued to hold him, lending him the strength to get through this one moment to the next. In near silence, he had begun to cry. Only the tiniest shake of his shoulders gave him away. From there she felt the tremulous way he was breathing, then the wetness on the front of the shirt she was wearing.

She said nothing. These tears weren’t for her, not yet. They were a release of energy, raw, primal and so vitally his. They weren’t a luxury. They were the only way he would be able to survive the rest of the night.

When his shoulders stopped shaking, she stroked his cheek, feeling the coarse beard that covered so much of his face, a face she missed more and more with each passing minute. Her tears had joined his and continued to flow even as his ceased.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” he whispered.  
“You never have to thank me, Oliver, not for that, not ever,” she whispered back, her voice thick and low.

Oliver looked up at her. In the darkness of the room, she could just make out the shine of tears on his cheeks. It felt like they were floating free from the bed, like the tether to their world had been severed. She felt no panic, no fear, just an emerging sense that this was a necessary step for them to shake off the dead weight of Slabside.

“Are you crying?” he asked, his voice rising to his normal soft tenor. A voice she had only ever heard him use with her.  
“Yes,” she admitted, wiping her face with the sleeve of his shirt.  
“Aren’t we a pair?” he said with a sad, lonely chuckle.

She smiled, grateful that he was allowing her her tears without trying to lay claim to them. He felt guilt, shame and regret for leaving her defenseless and alone, but he knew these tears weren’t about that and so, respected her boundaries.

“I am so glad to see your eyes again, even in the dark,” she smiled.  
“I am so very, humbly glad to see you,” he murmured, “Is this my shirt?”  
“It is,” she admitted with a guilty smile, “I needed something roomie to wear while getting you ready for bed.”  
“It looks good on you,” he said quietly. She couldn’t see because of the beard and the darkness of the room, but she was sure he was smiling.  
“Go back to sleep,” she said quietly, her hands on the back of his neck, gently massaging the knotted muscles she could feel under her hands, “We have a lot to do when we get up.”  
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a yawn and was asleep before she could ask him to move.

With a sigh, she shifted her body to a comfortable position and closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily but when it did, she dreamt of a field full of buttercups, lavender and wild roses. It was fragrant, soft, and endless. A wind picked up, ruffling her hair and filling the sky with clouds, dense and grey, heavy with rain. There was nothing chaotic about it, nothing out of the ordinary, until a howl rose up. Building on the wind until it surrounded her, pummeled her, drowning out the sound of the world around her.

She woke up just before the scream that had been building within her became a reality. The room was no longer dark, the early morning sun was just emerging from far below, but she could see that the bed was empty. She sat up, confused, and felt where Oliver should be, the sheets still held a lingering warmth from his body heat.

He was somewhere in the condo but she resisted the urge to get and look. He needed to find his way, alone, in this new space if they were to make it a home. She laid back down and faced the door, counting the seconds. The wind picked up outside, howling past their windows, and the sky grew dark. Felicity’s eyes slowly closed, sleep coming for her in the false night.

The gentle sound and movement of Oliver’s body rejoining her, the warmth of him as he pressed her pulled her back up through the layers of shifting consciousness. His arm had been slashed, burned and used to block punches and kicks less than 24 hours ago, but now it was being used in love, to hold her close.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly.  
“Where did you go?” she mumbled, trying to shake off the embrace of sleep.  
“I was thirsty and a little hungry,” he admitted.  
“Good,” she said and turned around to face him, “I was worried.”  
“I know and I am so sorry,” he said, his eyes once again downcast.  
“We can talk about that later,” she said softly.  
“I love you, Felicity,” he said, almost mournfully, his forehead pressed to hers.  
“I know,” she smiled and then, as softly as she could, she kissed his bruised lips.

It was like a thunderbolt rumbled and roared through them both. In all the chaos of his release and the fearfulness of coming home, they had forgotten to touch each other in anything other than need. She had lent him her strength, allowed him to take from her what he needed to make it through the night, to finally take a deep, long breath. But this one, simple kiss reminded them of the intimate need they held for only each other.

“Should we get up? I have no idea what time it is,” she murmured, her lips hovering about his.  
“It is a little after 6am, so no, we shouldn’t get up,” he answered, his voice breathless and low.  
“I’ve missed you,” she said, each word loaded with meaning.  
“The feeling is mutual,” he whispered. She could feel his breath on her face, warm and soft.  
“I love you, Oliver,” she murmured and waited.

It only took a small move of his head for his lips to find hers. So much love and strength passed between them in that one small kiss that she felt it with her entire body. She became intensely aware of him, all of him, so much so that it overloaded her mind, she felt short circuited. But his body was still hurting from a violent onslaught that almost killed him.

Resisting the powerful burst of desire that coursed through her, Felicity turned back around and pulled the covers up over them, finding warmth and safety under the duvet. There would be time for them to reconnect later, she thought, when his body had time to heal. Sleep found them again, the ebb and flow of it rocking them back under the waves of consciousness.

 

**II**

It was late in the morning, well after nine, before they awoke again. The sun was still hidden behind a thick layer of clouds but the room had brightened enough to intrude on their dreams and gradually, they awoke.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Oliver asked her quietly. He always knew when she was awake, even if she was facing away from him.  
“I thought we’d go through the paperwork, so to speak, from the feds. Make sure you are free with no strings attached. Maybe just spend the day here. Together,” she suggested with a yawn.  
“I don’t want to see anyone,” he said softly.  
“That is okay by me.”

Out of habit, Oliver rubbed his chin across the back of her neck causing her to shriek at the top of her lungs. His beard was coarse and both tickled and scratched her skin. There was a pause and then she felt his chest hitting her back.

“I cannot believe you are laughing,” she grumbled.  
“I completely forgot about the beard,” he chuckled.  
“You are terrible,” she said as she got up, “I need coffee. You can do whatever it is you want.”

His laughter followed her out of the room. It wasn’t his robust, body shaking laugh but it was a start and she smiled in the privacy of the living room. That beard would have to go but she had nothing for him to shave with just a few clothes she picked up on her way to Slabside. All of their belongings were in storage somewhere on the west side of the city. Eventually, they would have to get them but for now, they would be perfectly ok with what they had.

Her phone had vibrated off the coffee table. One glance and she saw why; almost seventy five unread messages and thirty phone calls. The media and friends, mixed into one jumble of electronic intrusions. They could face the questions in due time, right now all they needed was each other.

“So how many times do I need to sign my name today?” he asked after joining her in the kitchen area. He was still jump, the sound of his voice echoing back caused him to jump and left bruises on his body, ones she could see forming with each word spoken in their new home. He was guarding his heart and mind so tightly, she couldn’t read his expression for the first time in years.

Oliver used to be an open book for her. She could read his tiniest expressions, the simple way his left eye would twitch or the tiny flick of the fingers on his left hand. But in that moment, he was a microcosm of nervous energy, tiny explosions of anxiety. They sent ripples through the air, leaving marks on her skin as they passed her by.

“Come, let’s sit by the window,” she said, handing him a mug of coffee and a bagel.  
“We don’t have anywhere else to sit,” he said dryly.  
“Stop being a little shit and come and sit,” she laughed quietly. Not too loud so that her voice wouldn’t echoe back at them.  
“What do the feds want from me?” he asked as he settled on the couch beside her.  
“Looks like a Non-Disclosure Agreement of some kind,” she said as she read through the document. They are offering us a settlement as well. ARGUS seems to be ponying up some money, too.”  
“Why ARGUS?  
“Diaz.”  
“Right.”  
“That wasn’t your fault, Oliver. ARGUS dropped the ball. John dropped the ball,” she said, her voice harder than she meant it to be.

He remained silent, reading along as she slowly scrolled down, trying to make sense of what they were offering. She could feel the tension in the room begin to build. She pulled in her energy and tried to remain as still as possible. He was building up to saying something and afraid of her reaction.

She couldn’t blame him. They had spent enough time apart that even the simplest of comments could land wrong. She was afraid of it herself. There was a brittleness, a rawness surrounding them now. They needed time away from the city, from the media, from the constant barrage of texts and phone calls from well meaning friends and family. They were surviving on instinct alone, coming alive only when they touched.

“Should I sign this?” he asked, unsure of what to do.  
“We should get a lawyer to look this over first. I don’t want you to be caught up in any more of their lies,” she said, feeling thorny and angry at the FBI and ARGUS.  
“Please don’t suggest Laurel,” he said, rubbing his eyes in weary disgust.  
“She is the only lawyer we know, Oliver.”

Faster than she could move, Oliver took the tablet and affixed his signature and thumbprint to the document. Felicity sat in complete shock, and ran through all the options and consequences of his unilateral action. Her hands had balled themselves into fists and she felt the rage of seven months of abandonment come boiling to the surface.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a low, carefully controlled voice.  
“I am not having Laurel read over anything of mine, not ever again. This deal puts everything to rest. It puts it behind us, we can start our lives free from them,” he was defiant, angry.  
“But what if it handcuffs us? What if there was something in there that could make our lives even worse down the line?” she asked, her voice rising.  
“I want it done, Felicity,” his voice was steely hard.  
“You want it done. You.”

Shaking her head, Felicity got up and left the room. She could feel the beginnings of an argument and it just wasn’t time yet for those wounds to be opened. But she was angry. He was making decisions that would affect not only him but also her and William. Maybe he was right but they should have talked about it as partners and come to a conclusion that made sense for them both, for their family. Her fury was still growing when she heard him join her in the bedroom, coming in on the softest of feet.

“I need time alone,” she said over her shoulder.  
“That’ll be hard with me in the room,” he said dryly.  
“I just need a minute,” she said with her back to him. She was staring out the window, watching dark storm clouds form in the distance and caught her reflection in the tinted glass. She didn’t see anger, she saw pain. It was overwhelming. Punishing. She closed her eyes and breathed.

The room felt empty. There was furniture in it but no soul. No heart. She could feel echoes of nothingness hitting her body. The silence in their home held form and weight. With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking she was alone, until Oliver sat down beside her. He was as silent as a cat when he wanted to be, even for a man his size.

“You have to stop doing that, Oliver,” she said, the rage finally filtering out of her system, “You can’t act unilaterally anymore. Not anymore.” Tears threatened to fall as she spoke. Seven months of being stretched to the limit emotionally, physically and mentally had taken a toll on her heart and mind. Her hands shook in her lap.

“I thought…,” he started and stopped. He was sitting a few inches from her, close enough to touch, but all of his energy was pulled inward. She could always feel him when he was close but not now. He was avoiding her touch, her energy.  
“You thought you were doing me a favour,” she finished for him, “You thought you were doing what was best for me, for William, for us.”

Oliver nodded.

“But you never asked ME what I might want or think is the right thing to do. You took that choice away from me again, Oliver,” she said, her voice sounding flinty to her ears, “And that cannot happen again.”

He made a move to get up but she stopped him. One hand on his arm is all it took to bring him back down beside her. There was no more running away not anymore. Taking his bruised and cut hands in hers, she stroked the back of his knuckles. A familiar gesture, tender and comforting. She had missed his hands. So large and strong. Still able to be so gentle after a decade of violence.

Out of habit, she raised them to her lips and tenderly kissed them both. She felt the warmth of his skin, the pulse in his wrist. He felt blazingly alive in her hands. There were never sparks between them. Only lightning and fire.

He leaned towards her, resting his forehead on top of her head. His hands tightened just a tiny bit around hers, an increase in pressure, just enough so that she knew he felt her, too.

“I missed you, Felicity,” he whispered, his voice tortured and broken, “Every second of every minute of every day.”  
“I missed you, too,” she whispered, feeling the agony of the separation still lingering in the air around them. He had begun to cry, his tears hot as they fell on her arms and hands. It was more than her heart could take.

Carefully, so as to avoid jostling him and his bruised ribs and back, she turned and wound her arms around him, embracing him as best she could. It was going to take a lot of time to work through the agony of betrayal, the hurt left behind and the deeply rooted reasons for why he made the decision he did but for now, in the newness of the room, she could provide a place of comfort.

“I love you, Oliver,” she murmured, smelling the earthy, masculine scent of him. It had been so long since she had been near him like this she had forgotten the power it held.  
“Even after all of this?” he asked. “I’m not a good person, Felicity.”  
“What did you just say to me?” she asked, pushing him away in shock, “What the hell did you say to me?”  
“How can I be after what I put you and William through?”  
“Oliver…,” her heart shattered when she looked in his eyes and saw he believed what he was saying, “Oliver, you are a complicated, frustrating, brilliant, wonderful man. You make mistakes. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”  
“Sometimes, I just don’t know if that’s true,” he said quietly, his head resting on hers.  
“I know this is the prison beating talking,” she said patiently, “because I know your heart, Oliver Queen. I know it like I know my own.”

He didn’t say anything. His hands were rubbing her back, slow and easy. She felt his lips on her cheek, a tender kiss that lingered. When she pulled back to look at him, his eyes were open and waiting for hers. Red rimmed, but shining blue. A wail of longing was building in her throat, one that she had kept pushed down so far in her body it had taken seven months to find its way to the surface.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he said with a soft smile.  
“We do,” she murmured, struggling between the need to howl in sadness and finding a way to touch him without hurting him.  
“I’m still so tired,” he sighed.  
“Let’s lie down,” she suggested softly, “It’s dark and stormy. We can watch it from here. Under covers.”

He stood up slowly, favouring his right side, and made to pull the covers down. He stopped mid bend, white as a ghost. Felicity slipped an arm around his waist and braced him, struggling to keep him upright as he fought through the pain.

“Take your shirt off,” she said.  
“I don’t think I can raise my arms,” he said through gritted teeth.  
“We can always get a new shirt,” she said said, beginning to strain against the weight of him, he was so much more solid now, “I need to see your ribs.”

Carefully, he turned around and sat back on the edge of the bed. Felicity went out to the living room and found a pair of scissors. He hadn’t moved, his hands gripped the duvet in tight fists, the corded muscles in his arms bulging out under the stress of keeping his body completely still. Gently, she cut the shirt off of his body and what she saw, brought her to her knees.

The bruising over his torso was extensive. Livid red, deep blue and black splashes of hematomas across his chest and ribs, an outline of a boot on his back. It had taken all night for the visual evidence of his beating to make themselves known. Felicity’s fingertips hovered over a bruise in the shape of a large man’s fist, outlined in shades of blue and a deep, crimson red, and felt the heat of it rising off his skin.

“Oliver…,” she began and then stopped. What could she say or do? He had been beaten half to death to find his way back to her.  
“It looks worse than it feels,” he said with dry chuckle.  
“I don’t believe you,” she said quietly, afraid to look him in the eyes, “You should have said something...we should have iced your ribs after the bath.”

She felt the calloused palms of his hands cup her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled down her cheeks. His touch was so delicate, so restrained. She closed her eyes and surrendered.

Had he learned to be this gentle from someone? she thought, her mind racing. Or had he always been this kind under his armoured skin?

“Come on,” he said, the slight tremor in his voice betraying the vulnerability that seethed through his body, “Let’s lie down before I fall down.”

His weak smile and attempt at humour were his way of deflecting but she played along. Giving him the space to recover just enough to lead her onto the bed beside him. Gingerly, he laid down, found a comfortable position and waited for her.

“I don’t...I don’t know where to lie down,” she said, feeling a rising panic picking the seams of her resolve apart.  
“Like last night,” he mumbled, “Behind me.”

As carefully as she could, she slipped into bed behind him. Exhaustion and pain had taken their toll on Oliver and he had slipped into a fitful sleep almost immediately. His breathing was even and deep. She had been worried about broken ribs or internal bleeding. Now, as she surveyed his back, a roadmap of tortured flesh, she couldn’t find a place to rest her arm.

“Here,” he murmured, taking her hand and placing it over his heart, “No bruises here.”

She smiled and stifled a chuckle by kissing his shoulder. His body was a furnace, every cell burning through energy in order to heal. She wondered if she looked close enough, could she see the rapid regeneration of healthy skin and tissue? The flow of blood, rich in white and red blood cells?

Pressing her forehead against the only section of unmarked skin she could find, she willed him to heal. Faster. Stronger. She needed him just as much as he needed her. There were so many things they needed to work through, so many things burning a hole in her mind, her heart. As much as she loved him, she was angry. Hurt. The pain was eating her alive but she could do nothing until he was healed.

Somehow, she dozed off, finding a snippet of sleep to call her own. Her mind cut loose and fell into the pit that contained Havenrock. Flashes of light, howls of agony and shadows running across the surface of buildings, trying to escape the radiation and death, that arrived in the form of complete cellular annihilation.

“Felicity.” Her name was being spoken with such quiet love. “Wake up.”

The shapes around her moved like liquid across her skin, singeing the hair on her arms. She was reaching for them when she felt a hand on her cheek, a thumb brushing across her lips. Something about it felt so familiar but her heart wanted to follow the soul of a city reduced to ash as it blew past her on the wind.

“Felicity...come back to me.” The sadness infused into her name pulled her attention back to sound of the voice and the man who was speaking it.

Felicity’s eyes fluttered open and she say Oliver’s dark blue eyes staring back. It took her a minute to remember where she was and then another minute to remember the agony he must be in laying on the ribs that were so badly bruised.

“Whatareyoudoing?” she mumbled, trying to wake up, “Your ribs.”  
“I’m fine. This bed is ridiculously soft. You did well,” he smiled carefully around his split lip.  
“Did I wake you?” she asked.  
“You were crying...I think you said something about Havenrock,” he said sadly, pushing her hair off of her face.  
“I still have dreams about it from time to time,” she admitted, reaching for his hand. The gentle pressure of his palm on her cheek felt too intimate, too personal.  
“I’m sorry I accepted the settlement,” he murmured, regret and guilt mixed together, forming a brittle cage around his words.  
“It’ll pay for William’s school until he graduates, so there is that,” she smiled gently at him.  
“Maybe a holiday for us?” he smiled back.  
“Bali?”  
“Hmmmm Bali,” he hummed in agreement.

For a moment, the world fell away. She was aware of only him, the heat of his body, the feel of his hand on her face, the way he looked at her and how her heart raced in her chest. Then, from the livingroom, came the sound of her phone ringing and reality crashed through the soft bubble of intimacy they had begun to build.

“I should get that. When I checked my phone earlier…,” she shrugged haplessly.  
“I am betting your phone is ready to explode from all the unanswered texts and messages,” he chuckled quietly, still gently stroking her cheek, his fingertips brushing down her neck.  
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, “You should turn over.”  
“I should get up,” he sighed, “I think I’m hungry.”

Smiling, Felicity slipped out from under his hands and out of the bed. The air was cool, reflective of the weather outside. Shivering, she wished she had remembered to buy slippers or thick woolen socks. She was grateful that she had stocked up on food, the easier the better. Picking up her phone, she saw John had called half a dozen times.

An image of Diaz flashed before her eyes, the knife he held in hand, the threat of violent suffering and death. He was going to tortures her before killing her and all because he had been able to find her in Witness Protection. She remembered, in snippets and still images, fighting him with every ounce of strength she had and then waiting for him to finish what he started.

ARGUS had arrived just in time but that it took them so long to arrive, and that they allowed Diaz to find her and William, filled her with a rage that burned a hole in her heart. John had handpicked the team that was supposed to protect them. He had left them with minimal support in a strange city. Couple that with his dismissiveness of her when she was trying to find a way to free Oliver and it was an easy decision to delete all his messages unread and unheard.

“What is it?” he asked quietly from behind her.  
“Nothing,” she said too brightly, her voice cracking and reforming, “Just sorting through the messages.”  
“Any we should return?”  
“No, just well wishers,” she said, turning her phone off.

Oliver looked at her and waited just long enough that she knew he didn’t believe her. It was a gamble, a roll of the dice as to whether she told him the truth or not. But it undercut, diminished and devalued their relationship moving forward if she withheld the truth from him now.

“John. He’s been calling,” she admitted, her voice flat and emotionless.  
“So you just deleted all of his messages without listening or reading and turned your phone off completely because…?” he asked, unmoved and unmoving.  
“Because I am not ready to talk to him or have him being a presence in our home,” she said, her anger beginning to rise.  
“Felicity, he is our friend, maybe our best friend,” he said emphatically, “Why would you want to exclude him from our lives?”  
“Because he abandoned me, he abandoned William,” she seethed, clenching her fists as she spoke, “His handpicked team at ARGUS almost got William and I killed and let’s NOT speak about how he left me on my own to free you.”  
“Felicity…”  
“No, Oliver,” she said shortly, waving him off, “I don’t want to talk about John or ARGUS or anyone. Not now.”  
“Ok,” he said quietly, “Ok.”

For a moment they stood and stared at each other from across the near empty living room. Oliver had slipped on a hoodie, covering up the worst of the bruising, but was barefoot on the cold cement floor. Her feet were cold even though she was standing on the one throw rug she had purchased but he showed nothing. No recognition at all that the floor he stood on was almost ice cold.

“What do you want me to say, Oliver?” she asked softly. “The last six months have been difficult.”  
“I understand that,” he said, slowly moving closer to her, “but to turn your back on John?”  
“Why is that such a surprise given how he turned his back on me?” she countered.  
“Have you talked to him?” Oliver asked.  
“I tried and you know what he said to me? That I should forget even trying to help you, that you would be gone for a very long time and that I should move on,” her voice had slipped into a monotone.

Felicity felt a surge of raw panic. How could she explain this to him without losing her temper? Without raging at him, blaming him for every single moment in the past six months where something had gone wrong, when she woke up terrified or crying out of loneliness and sorrow? She felt a crack in the wall she had lived behind for over half a year and scrambled to repair the damage. If it broke, she had no idea what would happen.

“He...he never told me that,” Oliver said sadly.  
“Well, he said all of that and more,” she said, all the fight suddenly draining from her, “Coffee is ready. I need to get dressed.”

She all but ran out of the room, trying to outrun the echo of her voice. From the safety of their room, she could hear Oliver in the kitchen. The quiet clink of ceramic on tile, the soft open and close of the refrigerator. There was a gentle comfort that accompanied the sounds of Oliver being home. An insidious safety that was working its way into her again and she fought against it. Resisting the complacency.

Exhaustion flooded through her once again. She was so weary of fighting to maintain the calm in the house. Just once, she wanted to let the rage and pain flow out of her without worrying about anyone but herself. Sitting on the edge of their large, shared bed, with her back to the door, she let her shoulders relax and her head drop. She had intended to breathe through it, to pull all those competing emotions back in and bring them to heel, but instead she started to cry.

Silently, she wept. Felicity wanted to let go of everything that had built up inside her. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin under her fingertips, but she was afraid of hurting him. She wanted to scream her rage of hurt and sorrow mixed into one, but was afraid to hurt him.

He was here, with her, in their new home and as much as she wanted to pull him close, she wanted to push him away. The conflict in her heart was slowly eating her alive but underneath it all, she wanted them to be safe from harm. Despite all her fear, that the violence of their chosen lives was slowly eating their world, she wouldn’t trade in a single second.

“Hey,” he said as he sat next to her. She hadn’t heard him come in, he moved so silently when he held his energy close.  
“Hey,” she wiped her nose as she spoke, not bothering to hide the hurt and sadness.  
“Is there anything I can do or say right now that will help?” he asked.  
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “Try something.”

After a moment’s thought, Oliver said, in offering, “Let’s leave our phones off for the entire day. No outside voices. Let’s just spend this day on you and me.”

“That’s pretty good,” she smiled and relaxed just a little bit.  
“I mean it,” he said, “I am hurting, physically, emotionally, mentally...and all I want to do is curl up in this amazing bed with you. Listen to you talk about whatever you want to talk about, no matter how difficult, and just...reconnect to you, to life,” he said gently, slipping an arm around her, “I don’t need anyone else.”

“How are your ribs feeling?” she asked after a few minutes of deep breathing to calm her heart and mind.  
“I took a painkiller,” he admitted sheepishly.  
“One of the high octane ones from the medics?” she asked, surprised as he never, ever took anything to kill the pain.  
“I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, so it helps take the edge off,” he admitted.  
“Why am I so tired?” she laughed quietly, “I feel like I could sleep for a year.”  
“Come on, the storm is kicking into high gear, we’ve had lunch and now it is time for another nap,” he said as he slowly stood up, the effects of the oxycontin taking hold, “I need to lie down before I fall down.”

She watched him circle around to his side of the bed and carefully slip beneath the sheets. The room was dark, even though it was only a little after one in the afternoon, and all the lights in the apartment were off. Working off of instinct, she stripped down and out of the clothes she had on and joined him. His body was still pouring off heat as it healed and as much as she wanted to press up against him to share in it, luxuriate in it, she carefully kept a small distance between them in case he was still sensitive to touch.

The mattress was so well made, so comfortable, that she dozed off almost immediately and failed to feel the shift as he turned to face her. His fingertips on her face woke her up with a small start but she felt safe, cocooned, in the bubble of peace they had created together. Felicity smiled and pressed her cheek into his hand, just to feel the calloused palms on her smooth skin.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered.  
“It’s ok. I think I had just dozed off,” she murmured, “I hope all this sleep is helping heal you.”  
“You are helping heal me,” he said quietly, tenderly, “Just by being you.”  
“Isn’t the oxy kicking in?” she asked.  
“It is, I don’t feel a thing.”  
“Then let it work. Your body is basically a blast furnace, which is a good thing,” she chuckled.  
“I missed you,” he said quietly, “I missed your voice, your touch...how your skin feels…”  
“Aren’t you too sore...for this…?” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. His hand had traveled down her bare arm to her leg while he other arm slipped beneath her and pulled her closer to him.

She felt powerless in his injured hands. He held her gaze as he explored her body, his movements so tentative it was like he had never let his hands move over the landscape of her body. She remembered the feel of his lips and tongue, the solid length of him moving inside her, the way his breath felt across her skin.

“We should stop,” she suggested, felt that familiar rising heat, that unending fuel for the desire that existed between them.  
“We could, but I don’t really want to. I missed you, Felicity,” he all but growled, his meaning clear in how he gripped her hips.  
“I missed you, too,” she said, “but not this thing on your face. It has got to go, Oliver.”  
“You love it,” he chuckled.

Before she could answer him, he leaned in and kissed her. It was so gentle and soft, she felt dizzy, breathless, but then his tongue touched her lips, seeking permission to continue past them, and she sighed. Careful to not jostle him too much, she loped her top leg over top of his and pulled herself closer to him.

Their kiss deepened and she felt the familiar hum that she always felt when Oliver kissed her. It was like every cell in her body was vibrating in sync with his. She could feel herself coming back to life with his hands on her body and his tongue in her mouth, stroking her own. It was the kind of kiss that only they could share.

“God, Felicity,” he whispered, pulling up for air, “I wish I could say I’m going to have self control but…”  
“Shhh...let me,” she whispered and claimed his lips, his tongue, again. The beard was itchy but the silky soft feel of his tongue against hers was all she felt.

With a tenderness that struggled to control the rising need she was feeling, she pushed her hand past the waistband of his sweats and began to gently stroked his cock, loving the way it felt in her hand. As he hardened within her grasp, he pressed his forehead against hers and tried to control his breathing. His chest was heaving against hers. She could feel him trembling against her as the weight of his erection increased in her hand.

“Let me guide this,” she whispered, “Tell me if I hurt you. Ok?”

Oliver nodded. His eyes were closed, his breathing even, but he was relaxed, trusting. The foundation beneath their feet had cracks in it now, fissures and leaks, but the flash of hope she felt when he wrapped her in his arms was enough for her to believe they could make it through what was yet to come.

“I only feel whole when I am with you,” he whispered.  
“Never leave me like that again,” she murmured, slipping his sweatpants past his hips, “My life is empty without you.”  
“Never again,” he said so softly she almost missed the words.

With an aching tenderness, he kissed her as she guided him into her body. For the briefest of seconds, they both froze. Felicity gasped and then purposefully, gently, thrust down the length of his cock. Her body remembered him, remembered how this felt and it overwhelmed her.

“God, Oliver,” she gasped, “Remember, tell me if I move too fast.”  
“I thought I’d...we’d...never do this again,” he sighed, his breath hot against her skin.  
“I’ll go slow,” she promised.  
“It won’t matter.”  
“Just concentrate on breathing,” she whispered in his ear, “Let me do the rest.”

There was a rhythm that existed between them. She used to think it was their heartbeats that created it. At night, she would listen to his how his heart beat so strong and sure, even when he was in the grips of a nightmare. His heart rate was always steady. But over time, she realized that wasn’t it. There was something else at play, something that was raw, primal and old. Their hearts were connected but so were their bodies and souls.

“Let’s sit up,” he suggested quietly, “My ribs are not liking this.”  
“Maybe we should wait,” she said, “I don’t want you to hurt or feel any more pain.”  
“If we wait, I will probably die,” he chuckled softly as she sat back to wait for him to move.  
“Well, we can’t have that,” she smiled and then carefully straddled his lap, letting him guide his cock back into her body.  
“Move slow,” he requested, his lips on her neck, “As slow as you can.”  
“If it hurts too much-”  
“No, I want this to last,” he said quickly, to reassure her.

Felicity understood completely. Seven months without him had shown her just how much she needed him, his body, his touch, the love they shared so freely. Cradling his face gently between her hands, she held his gaze and slowly, luxuriously, rolled her hips, taking him all the way into her body.

“You’ll tell me if this is too much?” she asked softly.  
“God, I missed you. I missed this,” he gasped as she ground down against him in a sinuous movement that was building the tension within their bodies.  
“Shhhh,” she murmured and kissed him.

They had made love like this before on the Isle of Capri. Moving in near silence under a full moon on a night that felt like it were from another lifetime. They had left Positano and hopped on the ferry, intending to only visit for the day but got lost looking for a grotto on the far side of the island. By the time they found the ferry dock again, they had missed the last boat and had to find a room for the night.

The hotel they found was an old one with paper thin walls, but they moved the bed closer to large window that opened out over the Mediterranean sea and quietly made love under the bright night sky until the moon had set and the stars had winked into view. She remembered leaning back, his lips on her neck and one of his hands between them, his long fingers stroking her clit in time to how she moved against him.

When she came, she had breathed through it, long, deep breaths that had pulled her out of her body. His voice in her ear had drawn her back to him. Oliver had coaxed her through more than one mind altering orgasm that night but that one she would remember how it felt for the rest of her life. It was when she felt fully connected to him, like their souls had finally merged, and she felt hope for their shared future.

Despite all the hard times that followed, she would remember the way the moon had glowed, how Oliver’s eyes had lit up a deep, fathomless blue, how the silvery light from the stars had created soft, grey shadows in their room, and how passionately she loved him.

In the stormy darkness of their bedroom, she held his gaze once more and felt the building tension low in her pelvis. He had found the necessary balance to slip one hand between them and was gently stroking her clit in time with how she rode his cock in long, sensuous thrusts. Felicity felt herself slipping outside of herself again. Each time she felt his breath on her skin, she lost more and more of her tenuous grip on remaining in the moment.

Somehow, their bodies had found the rhythm that played silently between them. Because of his injuries, the pace was slow, delicate. She let herself feel him, his hands, his breath, the way he felt as he moved so deeply inside her. The pressure and heat that was pushing outward, sending her into a spiral of ecstasy, she had to keep contained so that her movements were in time with his. Her orgasm rolling over them both in a long, building wave. In almost total silence, she pulled him into a tender embrace and let go before it consumed her completely.

Oliver sighed as she clenched hard and fast around him, pulsing in time to her climax. She felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten and then the shudder as he came, joining her in that grey space of love and ecstasy that existed for only them. She loved the way it felt in that moment before he would pour himself inside her. There would be a slow, surging heat from his body to hers, then a pause, like he was gathering his strength, and then his cock would swell, throb and push her to her limits before flooding her, so hot and alive.

While he was gone, she had ached for him, the sight, sound, and scent of him. Now, as she held him in her arms, Felicity felt tears spilling down her cheeks and a quiet sob escaped her lips. Oliver wrapped her in his arms and rested his head on her shoulder. He remained silent as wave after wave of sorrow mixed with joy surged out of her.

He was home. He had fought his way through hell for her. He had earned his freedom with his fists and absolute determination to make his way back to his family. But here, in her arms, the vulnerability and insecurity, the lingering fear and soul consuming guilt vibrated out of his skin. He had begun to cry as well, so softly she almost didn’t know, and they held each other tight until the tears ceased to flow.

She had to choose. She could hold onto the anger and let it overshadow everything else. She let it grow unchecked until all else was eclipsed. Or she could work through the labyrinth of pain inside her heart and find her way through, with him, and move forward with their lives like she knew they could.

Locking him out of her heart and life was never an option. As he wiped away her tears, she saw past the armour he wore to protect himself, she saw past the uncertainty and into his heart. His homecoming had been a gentle one. No fanfare, just a quiet ride home, a long night spent asleep so the healing of his body could begin, and a delicate dance as they reunited skin to skin.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.  
“That now that you are home, we can work through everything we need to at our own pace,” she said gently, “I think you can agree with that.”  
“I can. I do,” he said reassuringly, “I love you, Felicity.”  
“I love you, too,” she smiled.

Oliver kissed her again but this time with an intensity and heat that had been missing from earlier. Before it was about connecting, finding a common ground and each other. This time, with his cock still inside her, she returned the kiss and let the passionate need behind it take hold. There would be time for gentleness later, right now was all about how sex could be the catalyst for something bigger than just pleasure.

“I’ve missed this. I abstained from...well,” he smiled sheepishly.  
“I tried a few times but everytime I would close my eyes, I would see you and I’d end up crying,” she admitted.  
“I’m so sorry. I know we have a lot to work through but I want to start there. I am so very sorry,” he said sadly.  
“Shhh,” she gently admonished, “Apologies can come later.”

As she spoke, she was using the muscles in her pelvis to tighten around his cock. Little by little, he grew hard again. Carefully, he flipped them over and laid her down on her back. This time, he used his size and strength to control how they made love. He was still cautious but after a few tentative thrusts, he slowly lost control. She sensed he was dissolving, reforming and finding his way back to her with each sensuous motion.

The freedom she felt to let her entire body experience the ecstatic energy of his body on hers pushed all other thoughts out of her mind. His lips on her breasts, the way her nipples responded to his tongue in a painful throb, the way his fingertips felt trailing down her torso combined into one mind shattering sensation. She was lost, unaware of how prolonged and intense her orgasm was. It left her depleted, desperate for him to find his own as he thrust so powerfully inside her.

“God, Oliver,” she gasped, gripping him tight, “Don’t stop. Please…”

His hips jerked, slightly out of tempo, and he came in an eruption, volcanic and hot, a powerful series of thrusts and she felt his body roar. His cock jerked hard inside her, throbbing and pulsing with energy and life. She opened her eyes and smiled. The sun had peaked out from beneath the dense blanket of clouds that had formed far out over the ocean and surged inland with the tide.

Their room glowed for just a minute, bathed in brilliant sunlight, and she caught sight of that spark of light and life his eyes held. He rarely let anyone see it but for her, it was a brighter than the sun. He smiled as he kissed her, a tender press of his lips to hers, and slowly, he moved off of her body and laid down next to her. He was careful to avoid laying on his tender ribs.

“You’re home,” she whispered. She turned to face him, enjoying the way the sun flowed over his skin.  
“I am,” he smiled before his eyes fluttered closed.

She watched him as he fell into a well earned nap. The rest of the day and night would consist of moments like this, she thought. They would eat, rehydrate, and then fall back into each other. He was covered in new chapters, new scars, for her to read. She planned to learn the new language of his body through touch, taste and smell. He was different now. Changed. Her husband, still so beautiful in her eyes, was a different man but she loved him with a ferocity that sometimes scared her. Would a day come when the fierceness of how they loved one another would consume them? In her secret heart, so mindfully kept hidden away, she knew that they were connected through time and space. They would always find one another, in this life and the next.

His return had been quiet, purposeful, after months of pain and torture, to everyone else around them. They all knew he was home, that he was free, but were staying away at her request. When Oliver had stepped out of Slabside and back to their life, they both knew they had hard work ahead of them. Yet they had set that work aside to see, to explore the boundaries of love and trust in near silence. Now, for Felicity, his return had rumbled to life like thunder across the ocean until it finally reached the shore where it would roar, shaking the earth beneath their feet.


End file.
